


Carry On, Boys.

by shipsandlattes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20, A complete rewrite, Fix-It, Let’s bring them all back, Multi, Quote: Family Don't End With Blood (Supernatural), Season 15, Sort Of, finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsandlattes/pseuds/shipsandlattes
Summary: A rewrite of the series finale that I hope eases the pain.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 12





	Carry On, Boys.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BadWolfWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfWinchester/gifts).



Eight o'clock comes around again and Dean Winchester is startled awake from the same dream he has been having for months now.

Clear blue sky, crystal waters, the whitest sand, and of course, Sam, Jack and Cas, each dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, with a dozen little umbrella drinks lining their table. He could feel the wind on his face and the sand at his feet. He felt peaceful, happy, blessed even - not a word he had ever used to describe any attribute of his life. He looked over at Sam, who was lying on his beach towel, hat half covering his eyes to shield them from the sun, and reading some sort of crime thriller. _Of all the books he could have brought with him,_ Dean thinks, _he chooses more death and destruction, go figure._ He looked happy though, more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him.

His eyes then fall to Cas, who is trying to no real avail, to teach Jack how to swim. He watches as Cas attempts to show Jack the most basic technique; breaststroke. But Jack just can’t seem to get his body to move like it needs too and Cas can’t help but laugh. He feels his heart flutter just a little at the sight, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cas smile like that. As if sensing his thoughts, Cas pulls his attention away from Jack, locking eyes with Dean. It was as though time had come to a complete stop. With a last sip for good measure, Dean puts down his drink. He makes his way over to the water as Cas motions for him to join them -

Dean hits the button on the alarm clock beside his bed. Another day. He pauses a moment before he opens his eyes, giving himself the mental pep talk he does every morning that forces him to get out of bed. _Come on, Dean. Up. Out. You gotta do this. He would want you to live, to fight, to keep going, to be happy. So get the hell out of bed, and do it._ As he pulls himself upright and into a stretch, he is immediately suffocated by a mane of long, golden fur. Miracle is his everything. The dog nuzzles into his neck and he held him as close as he could.

“Good Morning,” he said affectionately into Miracle’s fur, not breaking contact with the furry bundle.

* * * * * * * *

“And in other news, the former President of the United States is still refusing to concede defeat, stating that major pharmaceutical companies have devised a conspiracy against him by holding back the cure for a widespread virus to stop him from winning the election.”

Sam slows as he realises he’s running to beat of the newscasters voice. He comes to a complete stop and takes a deep breath, looking out at the lily-covered lake before him. _We did it._ He thought to himself. _We really did it._ The fact that he and his brother had actually won the war against God (or Chuck as he so annoyingly referred to himself), reducing him to a simpering mortal mess, was staggering to him.

The fact that Jack, his adopted son, was now God himself, was absolutely mind blowing. Sam hadn’t really had time to digest everything that had happened or what itnow meant for him and Dean. As he took in the scenery before him, he thought about all those he loved, those who _his son_ had saved. He thought about Eileen. He was trying to work up the nerve to call her. The guilt he felt at not being able to get to her in time, to explain to her what was happening. The pain he felt at losing her, the thought of never getting to see her again, it was all too much. _I’ll call,_ he thought, _I’ll call her today,_ but the tone of his own thoughts had him convinced otherwise.

* * * * * * * *

The brothers morning routine is much the same. Breakfast, shower, tidying up, doing dishes or laundry. It was those simple, mundane tasks that kept them sane, kept their feet planted on the ground. If a stranger were to watch them go about their day, they would think they were the most well adjusted people on the planet. How wrong they would be.

Dean walks lazily into the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs drawing him in. Sam is cooking, and as usual, is dressed and ready for the day before Dean has even had his first cup of coffee. The toast pops up and Dean instinctively walks over to grab it.

“It’s hot” Sam cautions him, _forever the parent,_ Dean thinks as he takes out the toast.

“Ugh!” He yells and drops the toast onto the plate. He can almost hear the smirk on Sam’s face. On instinct, Dean pours a third cup of coffee. As he catches himself, reality once again slams into him like a ton of bricks. _Breathe through it, man._ He swallows the pain that’s ready to crawl up the back of his throat from the pit of his stomach.

Sam turns to face him, placing an even amount of eggs and bacon on each of their plates. Dean takes his plate and coffee without so much as a word and sits down at the table, Miracle is already laying on the floor beside him.

If Sam notices the extra coffee, he doesn’t say anything.

* * * * * * * *

Dean sits at the large wooden desk in the bunker’s main hall, laptop open and Miracle by his side. He’d moved his laptop to the desk at the front of the room, he couldn’t bare to see the permanently ingrained carvings of the names of those he’d lost in his usual spot. It was bad enough that every time he walked into the room, that’s where his eyes would immediately settle. It was too much that every time he saw them, his eyes would well with fresh tears, that every time he thought he didn’t have any more tears left to cry, he was wrong.

He was desperate to find something, anything, they could investigate. He needed to keep going because he is all too aware of the fact that if he stops for even a minute, he’d break, and he promised himself, _promised him,_ that he wouldn’t do that, not this time.

He feels more than sees Sam makes his way over, sitting down at his own open laptop across from him.

“Nothing weird coming over the wire. Social media looks clean. You got anything?”

Sam looks up at his brother when he fails to respond. Dean doesn’t look up from his screen, his expression hard and intense as he reads.

“Dean?” Sam asks again.

“Oh, I got something.”

 _For you, I’ll_ _live,_ Dean thinks, _really live, because that’s what you would have wanted._

* * * * * * * *

The Impala pulls up in small, suburban area in Akron, Ohio. For one of the biggest cities in America, it had so much small-town charm that you wouldn’t be surprised to find the Brady’s shopping at the local market. Baby’s door squeaked as Dean shut it behind him, a sound that never failed to make him feel safe. He took in his surroundings; it was one of the most wholesome places Dean had ever seen, from its brightly coloured flowers, to its white picket-fenced cafes where patriotic themed banners hung across every beam. The town was celebrating and those festivities were precisely what had brought him here; the 43rd annual Akron Pie Fest.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Sam asked his brother, a wave of concern crossing his face.

“Oh, I don’t have choice,” said Dean, “this is my destiny.”

Sam tried not to roll his eyes. Dean knew he wasn’t talking about the festival, but Sam was unsurprised at his brother retort. He’d being doing that a lot lately, deflecting every point of real conversation with a new found chipperness. This was their first real outing that didn’t involve killing something since Jack and Cas had been gone. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t love seeing Dean happy, of course he did, but this - this highly, upbeat, everything’s fine attitude - this didn’t feel right. Dean hadn’t said a word about Cas or Jack since it happened, and Sam had been very careful not to bring up any names in fear of breaking the dam behind his brother’s heart he had been watching fill up for months. He still didn’t know any of the details surrounding Cas’ death, and he didn’t dare ask, but he knew that this time something had been different, and whatever it was had resulted in Dean pushing his grief, pain and anger so far down that Sam was scared of what would happen when it finally hit the surface.

Sam was dragged out of his thoughts by the faintest sound of sobbing.

“It’s just so beautiful.” Dean said, hand running over his face like he’d just finished The Notebook for the first time.

“Are you crying?” Sam asked, amused at his brother’s ridiculousness.

“What? No. You’re crying. I’m-“ Dean cuts himself off and swallows. Sometimes, when he’s busy _living,_ reality catches him by surprise and he’s forced to remember why this is so hard for him. _Deep breath,_ he thinks as he takes one. _Happiness Dean, be happy. Get it together._ He wonders if Sam notices these little moments where he bleeds through the cracks in his armour.

“I’m gonna go get me some-“ he swallows again.

“Pie.” Sam finishes for him and Dean is grateful for the save.

“I’m gonna go get me some damn pie.” He says, plastering the biggest smile he could manage on his face before walking away, leaving Sam to wonder what exactly he’d just witnessed.

* * * * * * * *

Sam settles on the nearest free bench he can find, watching the festivities play out in front of him; happy families mostly, kids eating and playing, parents smiling, couples sharing. He’d always been one for people watching, but these days, witnessing people like this felt especially cruel. His pocket felt heavy with the weight of his cell phone. _I should call her,_ he thinks.

His eyes catch Dean crossing the crowd, a large box in hand. _Cas would have loved this,_ he thinks, _so would Jack._ He wonders if Dean thinks about them, wonders how he deals with the hole in his heart. He imagined Jack and Dean causing a fuss, buying up the pies, not being able to choose which ones they wanted and wanting to take some home for later. He imagined Cas rolling his eyes, cautioning them on how excessive consumption would make them exceedingly ill, but secretly loving every second of the chaos that was unfolding in front of him. _That’s how today should’ve been._

“Hey,” Dean sits down next to him and Sam peers inside the box; cream, apple, raspberry, blueberry, pecan and of course, cherry. Each of Dean’s favourite flavours.

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Now come on, I know that face. That’s _Sad Sam_ face.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m not _Sad Sam._ I was just thinking about Cas, you know?” He immediately regrets saying his name when he sees his brothers expression fall.

Dean felt his heart clench in his chest. _Breathe,_ he thinks, but he can’t meet Sam’s eyes, he knows that’ll be the giveaway.

“And Jack, if they could be here.” Sam continued.

Dean doesn’t want to talk about this, he’d been trying to avoid this exact conversation for months. He knew the minute he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He would have to explain to Sam the circumstances around Cas’ death, and he couldn’t bare to have that conversation, not now, maybe not ever.

“Yeah.” He knew Sam wanted to talk, to acknowledge that they were gone. He wanted confirmation that Dean was okay. The problem was, Dean couldn’t give it to him. Sam had always been much better with the “feelings stuff” than he was, but this wasn’t just about that. Dean was hanging on by a thread, his pain was potent, showing no signs of easing. Dean worked every waking hour to keep himself together, for Sam. _For Cas._

“Yeah, I know. I think about them too.” Sam looked at him with pain in his eyes, and he wondered how much they reflected his own. _Don’t let it in._

“You know, that pain’s not going to go away, right? But if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is going to be for nothing.” Dean knew his words were of little comfort, but it was all he could manage. _He_ didn’t believe a word that had come out of his mouth, but he hoped that Sam did. _That’s what you wanted, for us, for me,_ he thinks, and he was trying, by the love of all things holy, he was really trying.

Dean felt the all too familiar burn crawl its way up the back of his throat. This was too much, he needed to stop. He breathes and takes a minute to remember where he is. He looks at Sam, he hated seeing him so miserable. _Happiness, Dean. Live._

“So, quit being a freaking Eeyore, huh. Get into this!” Dean gestures to the box and pushes a plastic fork in Sam’s direction.

Sam smiled, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He gently picked up one of the pieces, being sure not to let it slip from it’s paper surface, and as Dean focused on which flavour to demolish first, Sam pushed the pie directly into Dean’s face. Dean sat there, stunned, as Sam laughed, shaking off the remnants of cream from his hands.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Although you couldn’t tell from his face, Dean was so happy to hear Sam laugh again, really laugh, there hadn’t been enough of that lately.

“You’re right, I do feel better!” Sam said as he continued to laugh at his brother’s expense.

For a minute, Dean felt light, felt normal. He scraped some of the cream off of his face with his fork, and ate it. For a just a minute, he felt okay.

_For you, I’ll live._

* * * * * * * *

“Mommy, are we there yet?” Ally’s tired voice drifted from the backseat.

“Almost babygirl, go back to sleep.” Emily turned to her husband, who was sitting in the passenger seat, staring a little too intensely at a map.

“How much further?” She asked, her tone laced with annoyance.

She should have let him drive, he was the absolute worst for directions, but he had insisted and she hadn’t felt like arguing. There was nothing but darkness for miles on end, the highway was silent except for the grumble from her car’s engine. There were forests on either side of the road with trees so tall and thick that they blended into a blanket of blackness, the only colour to be seen was the white fog that seemed to be getting more solid by the minute.

“Carlos, did you hear me?”

“It says we should have reached the inn a few miles back.”

Emily rolled her eyes, she could feel the beginnings of a tension headache. She took one hand off the wheel to pinch the area between her eyes and her nose, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. When she opened her eyes, her vision was immediately drawn to a ghostly figure standing alone in the centre of the road. She slammed the breaks hard, causing her husband to shriek and her child to waken.

“What the hell happened?!” Carlos said, breathing heavily.

Emily reached into the backseat to reassure her daughter, grabbing her hand. When she turned back, the road was empty.

“You’re telling me you didn’t see her?” She asked incredulously.

“See who? I was reading the map.”

“She was just standing there,” Emily scoured the street from inside the car, but there was nothing.

“There’s nobody there,” Carlos rolled down his window and stuck his head out to look around. “Maybe I should drive for a while.”

Emily had a sarcastic remark at the ready, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she caught a glimpse in the rear-view mirror and the words turned into a cold-blooded scream.

In the backseat, sitting next to her daughter was a young woman with long black hair and dressed all in white. Emily’s scream was cut short when the woman reached over into the front seat and slashed her throat. The last thing she heard as the blood pooled at the base of her neck was the faintest of whispers.

“Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2: Coming soon.


End file.
